B
oatbuilding facilities come in all shapes and sizes around
the world. They range from mom-and-pop shops in lit-
tle more than a two-car garage under a Banyan tree to
ultra-modern manufacturing facilities with skyscraping
paint sheds and cranes that look like they belong at the
Port of Long Beach, bearing more resemblance to a NASA subcon-
tractor than a yacht yard. It should be no surprise that the nature of
the facilities bears no relation whatsoever to the skill and dedica-
tion of the builders ensconced therein.
Among the wide variety of boatbuilding venues, the traditional
working boatyard is certainly the most inviting to a yacht designer and
engineer like me. Being immediately adjacent to navigable water, each
working boatyard’s real estate is in high demand by condo developers,
nature preservationists, various competing industries and innumerable
other would-be buyers or tenants. So it is always a pleasure when I have
the opportunity to work with a well-established yard that builds their
own boats right where their owners go to have them serviced.
Old-school boatyards are each unique in their own right, but
they invariably share several common traits. For one, they are rare-
ly paved; their gravel or crushed-shell grounds provide a reassuring
early warning crunch every time a truck or Travelift is on the move.
Old-school boatyards don’t have swimming pools, putting greens or
a sushi bar overlooking the day spa. There’s a faded blue 1962 Ford Su-
per Dextra tractor parked where the pool would be, but no one dares
dig up the soil for fear of what might have been dumped there in 1940.
A putting green might look nice over where the machine shop is, but
that’s not gonna happen until ol’ Roy in the dirty overalls smoking a
cigarette over there by the propane tank is dead and gone. And sushi
tastes best when you catch it yourself offshore, which is the entire rai-
son d’etre of this boatyard in the first place. No plans are being drawnOld-School Cool
INSIDE ANGLE
Some yacht yards resemble NASA control stations, but you can’t beat the old-fashioned kind.
20By Bill PrinceBR
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up for “Emeril’s Boatyard Fish House” next to the fuel dock.
The individual vessels resting on jackstands in a real boatyard almost
always run the full spectrum, from gleaming Bristol-condition show-
pieces to the boat which has clearly been rotting away in the same spot
for a quarter century. The latter always triggers speculation as to the
magnitude of delinquency of the owner’s yard bill, and begs for a guess
as to when both the boat and the bill will be cut up by ol’ Roy.
Every true boatyard has at least one “yard car,” a vehicle with no
license or registration, and one which could not pass any emissions test
in the known universe. The yard car remains in the friendly confines of
the yard, never venturing out into the big bad world of soccer moms
and strip malls. The yard “car” is often a pickup, without a tailgate or
sometimes even a bed, and is used for a hundred tasks a day. During
my college summers I worked in a real boatyard, and our worst/best
yard car was a pea green Ford Pinto with nothing more than a wood
keel block for a left rear suspension. It rode just fine on the gravel.
And no real boatyard is complete without a guest apartment
nestled above a wood shop or machine shop. I was a guest in such
an apartment at Huckins Yacht in Jacksonville, Florida, for whom
we designed the first-ever Huckins sportfisherman with pod pro-
pulsion.
This venerable Florida yard has been in business since Ponce de
León needed his first pumpout. The shack housing the apartment
on the second floor was built before he needed his second. But don’t
be fooled by the craggy, salt-baked exterior. Inside this sunburnt
building is an ice-cold luxury enclave which would make Conrad
Hilton proud, especially after a long hot day around the yard. There’s
a living room with a 70-inch TV, a quiet bedroom in the back with
a king-size bed and a kitchen with fridge full of beer and Dove bars.
You won’t find comfort like that at a NASA subcontractor. U